


The Boy in the Bubble, or Reasons Why It's Kind of Okay to be Awake, by Nolan Patrick

by smudgedfreckles



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Corona et cetera, Everyone's a bit sad, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Nolan cries a lot, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgedfreckles/pseuds/smudgedfreckles
Summary: Nolan can't sleep.Again.It feels like ever since his migraines started up, he’s had the three most important things to him stolen: Sleep, Hockey, and Travis Konecny.Everything was looking up at the end of the 18’-19’ season, besides their actual record, of course. He’d felt like he found a friend in the team, in the boisterous laugh of TK, and he’d been invited to fish with him that summer, just as they had lost the hockey season, and that night he had the worst migraine of his life.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 16
Kudos: 104





	The Boy in the Bubble, or Reasons Why It's Kind of Okay to be Awake, by Nolan Patrick

**Author's Note:**

> Every game in this actually happened, with all the goals and all that jazz, so the dates should be accurate. I tried my best with migraines. This hurt my heart to write a lot so I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> also, listen to the boy in the bubble by paul simon.

January 30th (although it’s so late at night it might as well be the 31st already)

Nolan;

He can’t sleep. 

Again. 

It feels like ever since his migraines started up, he’s had the three most important things to him stolen: Sleep, Hockey, and Travis Konecny. 

Everything was looking up at the end of the 18’-19’ season, besides their actual record, of course. He’d felt like he found a friend in the team, in the boisterous laugh of TK, and he’d been invited to fish with him that summer, just as they had lost the hockey season, and that night he had the worst migraine of his life. 

He was in bed for twenty-eight hours. Yeah, he counted. In truth, he’d had headaches more often than a normal person would ever since his headshot concussion in December. They were mild, more of a throbbing pain, and nothing had been as bad as that night. And Travis had showed up to his house after hour twelve, like it was nothing, just there for him, food, water, Tylenol, fishing stories, whatever, until Nolan fell asleep again. Just like he was the one to walk him off the ice when he got hit, the first one to introduce himself when he met the team, his bud. His guy. Travis. 

And now he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t play hockey, and couldn’t see Travis because it was February and he was playing, and Nolan was not. 

January 31st. 

Nolan;

They’re playing the Penguins. Normally, as if anything was normal now, Nolan would go down to the box to watch this game, especially just to curse out Crosby every time he touched the puck. But he hasn’t managed to do that after the first five home games that made him so sad he couldn’t keep going. 

Couldn’t keep seeing the sympathetic eyes from his team, just couldn’t do it. He was their wasted first round, second pick overall. Down the drain.

He used to remember the moment – _The Philadelphia Flyers selects Nolan Patrick, from the Brandon Wheat Kings_ – so fondly, the pride in his parents eyes, his dad so proud of his son getting drafted, just like he did, his uncle, his mom, teary eyed hugging him so hard he thought he was going to die, and his sisters barely muffling their shrieks of delight. Now the only emotion he can attach to that is painful, throbbing guilt in the back of his head, like a second headache. _FailureFailureFailure._ If Nolan were logical, he would know there was nothing he could do about the concussion that led to his migraines, wasn’t his fault, and he did stop a shot. But Nolan plays hockey, and logic is not really a strength of the NHL in general. So instead, he hates himself for it, for being high of his ass on the fucking love for this stupid sport for two years only to be boinked in the head so hard he had to quit. 

So he watches in his lonely fucking apartment, still cursing at Crosby through the TV. The bastard deserves it. 

Travis;

They lose. It’s terrible. It’s another OT loss, which Travis hates because it means they could’ve won it, but they didn’t. Moose doesn’t say anything off the ice and G gives a nice speech about hard work or whatever but Travis doesn’t care. He hates losing (duh), but he especially hates losing because he knows Nolan is watching at home. He gets his good luck text every game like clockwork, just before warmups. It makes his heart ache to know his friend is watching him at home, just hoping to see some good hockey, and all Travis wants to do is make him feel like he’s on the team again, like the goal cellys are something he’s a part of. But they lose, so he feels terrible. This text even had an emoji, too. 

So Travis grumbles home, feeling guilty, tired, and generally like shit. 

* * *

February 1st.

Travis;

The flight to Colorado is uneventful. Three hours there, check in to the hotel, nap, eat, game. Nolan’s text is on time. No emoji. Travis tries hard not to take it personally. It’s just an emoji, for fuck’s sake. But it’s on time, even with the time zone, which makes Travis happy and then sad. Happy, because he got the text which makes him feel a little better about the game and like there’s someone to play for, but sad, because it means Nolan’s still so in tune with hockey time and hockey schedule. 

Travis can’t even imagine how much it must hurt to be so fine one day and so fucked the next you can barely move. He and Nolan don’t talk about it much, just little small talk in between discord trash talk during games. They used to go out to eat some, but Nolan’s diet got really strict quickly, so that wasn’t really an option. And Travis knows that him talkingtalkingtalking can’t help the migraines, so he stays away, only talking to Nolan when Nolan wants to, which is less often than he wants to. He can’t help that Nolan is his best friend, the only one who seems content to just listen to Travis talk, and Travis thinks that Nolan has only ever really opened up to him. So yeah, he’s pretty bummed about not having a happy, healthy, best bud to down a few beers with and get a little to deep a little to quickly. 

But he tries not to think about the gaping Nolan-sized hole next to him in the locker room as he gets ready for this game.

Lyon’s in goal, because Carter’s out, and Travis is a little nervous but just decides not to think about it. Play now, worry later. 

Nolan;

Farabee’s playing up today. The kid’s a baby, only 19, but seems like he knows what he’s doing. He was fine at eighteen, so he’s sure this kid will be ok. His line works well (where he should be, Nolan thinks sourly) and tries to be positive and think instead about how fun it could be to adopt a rookie like Farabee, like Travis did for him. But not the same, because he and Travis have something more than that, and he’s trying to figure out what that is and why that makes him want to cry but it’s giving him a headache so he decides to push the weird but familiar feeling of he and Travis being something different away. 

4 seconds left in the first and Travis has the puck, to VanReimsdyck, to Hayes and finally they’ve scored on the powerplay. Farabee scores in the second. Fucker’s good. 

Travis throws an aggressive jostle at an Avs player getting to close to Lyon, and Nolan lets himself out of his puddle of misery to smile a little bit. That’s Travis. 

Farabee and Coots are on fire this game, and all Nolan can think about is how that should be him and Travis, celebrating after goals, big guy and little guy in a big hug, like magic together. It’s his fault. It isn’t, but it is. _Jesus_ he wishes he could drink. The game’s just making him sad, even though they’re winning, but he can’t not watch. He just wants to be part of something.

Hayes fires a shorty into the net on Travis’ penalty, and now Nolan’s sadder, because he might never get to know this guy, so good and so bumbly happy and Travis’ friend on the ice, not Nolan. 

The boys win, and Nolan is sad. He decides, fuck it, he’s not going to play for basically forever, so he grabs vodka from the freezer that’s been there for forever, and takes way too big of a swig, even for non-fucked-up-head Nolan to justify, and he texts Travis “good game bud :)” before taking another oversized swig and immediately running to the bathroom to vomit. This was a terrible idea.

* * *

February 2nd.

Travis;

Travis didn’t check his phone that night, happy-sad and a little tipsy over the victory. He doesn’t check it until the morning when they’re boarding their flight back to Philly. 

Huh.

**Pattycakes** : good game bud :)

Nolan never texts him after a game, they usually just talk about it over discord, a small congrats and then back to the game. Travis tries not to talk about hockey unless Nolan wants to–he doesn’t want to hide anything, just doesn’t want Nolan to feel bad. He’s never been good at feelings or comfort or whatever, so he just stays quiet. He’s not great at that either, but he’s trying. 

And now, he’s trying to ignore his brain working at a million miles a minute trying to decide why Nolan decided to text him this today, because really the rookie played well, not him, and is quick enough to push away the aching in his chest that reminds him too much of the Nolan-shaped hole next to him. He texts back a quick “thanks bud”, then a smiley face because it felt unfair or whatever not to.

Tries not to think on the flight back. 

Which is difficult for him, so he goes through the different fish he’s caught and what flies he uses for them but then he thinks of Nolan again, his fishing buddy (even though Nolan _swears_ hunting is far superior to fishing) and he’s a little bit sad again, missing the time when anything was normal. When Nolan was there. 

* * *

February 3rd.

Travis;

Travis didn’t get a game invite for last night. It isn’t out of the ordinary for them to miss a few days of gaming, and Travis knows that Nolan can only spend so much time on screens, so he must have had a bad migraine or something.

He hasn’t gotten a good luck text by the time he’s in warmups, and is the last on the ice, checking his phone again in case the service was off or whatever. Hayes gives him a confused look but Travis chooses to ignore it. Nolan never misses a text, and Travis starts to worry. 

Clearly the worry transferred into the play, because they play like shit, except for Moose, who always plays well.

JVR spends the entire first period almost-scoring, which is objectively worse than not at all, because you know you can do it but you just don’t.

Laughton finally scores in the second. They’re still not playing well, and Travis misses a shot he _knows_ he could have made, but at least now the whole damn team is missing shots instead of all playing defense. Makes them look a little more dominant, or something.

Travis wonders if Nolan is watching. Probably not, because he thinks he has a migraine, and Travis withers a bit, but tries not to think about it. Which is not something easy to do when your brain goes a hundred fucking miles per hour and he already went through the lyrics of every song on Hayes’ warm up playlist to distract himself. Twice.

Hayes scores his second shorty in a row, which is pretty sweet and makes Travis feel a little bit better about their game.

Travis misses another fucking one-on-one shot. 

They win 3-0, because it’s the Red Wings and they suck, but Travis still feels shitty and goes home grumpy. 

February 6th.

Travis;

Travis checks his phone for the hundreth time. 

“Teek, bud, watcha lookin for?” Hayes asks, with an easy smile

“Nothin, man, nothin,” Travis forces himself to reply. He turnes his phone on airplane mode and tries not to think about the fact that he hasn’t talked to Nolan since the 2nd and he didn’t get his text. 

Detroit also sucks, so Travis tries not to worry about this game, even though it’s away. They’re the Devils, they’ll be fine. They played badly and still beat the Red Wings. Both red teams, both bad. It’s fine. 

It is so not fine. They lose 5-0. Travis can’t look G in the eye, and numbly listen’s to AV’s speech about how frankly terrible they were. He knows what he did wrong, and he knows he was distracted but he just can’t care. Just grumps back to the hotel, sleeps in the papery sheets, and tries to read an article about fishing his dad sent him on the plane home. 

On the drive home, he puts on his feel-good country, then turns it off. Wishes Nolan were there to give him shit about his music taste. 

Slams his car door extra loud in the parking garage, like anyone cares.

* * *

February 7th.

Nolan;

Nolan has been in and out of sleep, pain, and some pretty nasty vomit for the past 5 days. He hasn’t had a migraine this bad in a long time, and was tentatively hopeful that this meant they might go away, but of course they fucking didn’t because he chugged vodka like the sad bastard he is. He just can’t win, can he. 

He hates being awake. Nothing is worse than being awake, the spitting white-hot pain in his head and the gurgle of bile in his stomach. All he wants now, and for the rest of his life is to be asleep. 

He missed two games, doesn’t even know the score because the light on his phone is too bright to check and the sound of the janky radio he bought for one game he didn’t want to miss that he listened to hurts his ears. 

He feels terrible about it, of course, like he let down his team or something, but he knows he didn’t let anyone down, that he isn’t really part of the team anymore, more of an afterthought. 

Bitterly, he thinks that he might even be an afterthought to Travis.

His phone buzzes. 

But it’s the special pattern buzz that he set up for Travis more than a year ago, when he had hopes and dreams or whatever. His migraine is still bad, but he’s gotta read this text. At least someone care’s he’s alive, so he winces as he turns his phone over, semi-blinded by the pale blue light. 

There are four messages, each about 5 minutes apart. Nolan wonders how he didn’t hear all of them, but he also remembers that he did spend the past 20 minutes in the bathroom trying to vomit, so he probably missed a few before he dragged himself back in bed. 

**Teeks** : hey bud I didnt hear from u everything good ?

pat?

gonna be over in 5 if u dont respond

on my way

Fuck.

Travis is on his way over to Nolan’s apartment, for the first time in basically forever. They didn’t see each other over the summer because Nolan’s migraines had kicked his ass so hard he literally could not imagine interacting with a human for a month, and once the season started, things got busy. Travis came over a few times to play, but he was so talkative and loud and Nolan’s head pain was so fresh that he couldn’t do it.

He almost cried texting Travis that he didn’t know if they could game anymore in person because it hurt his head so much, knowing that this meant they might not see each other again this whole season, especially if his head went on like this. They couldn’t go out to eat, couldn’t drink, and Nolan refused to entertain the thought of the two of them just chilling and talking, because it made him too sad to think about telling Travis to stop talking, quiet down, whatever. He really liked listening to him talk, and Travis liked to have him listen, and Nolan didn’t want to ruin that too. So he put it on hold, he decided. They can’t not do it anymore, it’s just. Postponed.

All Travis responded was “its ok man we can always go through discord. U can turn down the volume on me.” And that little considerate thought of Travis’ was enough to make Nolan actually cry.

And now Nolan’s actually tearing up, and he smells like vomit, and the idea of taking a shower already starts to make his head hurt, and then he hears his doorbell. 

He hauls himself out of bed, in two day old boxers and a fucking nasty old Wheaties shirt and drags himself to the door, opening it slowly and painfully. The sympathetic smile on Travis’ face as he opens the door almost makes Nolan cry again, but he pushes it back down his throat where it comes again up as a croaked “Hey”.

Travis;

On the drive to Nolan’s, Travis went through the list of reasons Nolan wasn’t responding to his quadruple texts. 

a) He was asleep

b) He was dead (Travis hopes not. Dead asleep, maybe)

c) He hated Travis suddenly and didn’t want to respond

4) The light hurt his eyes

e) All of the above

And, since Travis is part of the NHL and has no logic skills, he goes with e) all of the above, and zips to Nolan’s, breaking every speed limit available.

Walking up the stairs to Nolan’s apartment, he hopes the answer isn’t a) or b), because he doesn’t want to wake Nolan up, but he also doesn’t have a key so he hopes that it’s 4), wait no, d)? Whatever, he’s confused now so he knocks on the door. After an agonizingly long time, even though Travis is well aware that Nolan is just slow and probably fucked up, the door is open.

“Bud,” Travis says, staring at Nolan’s pathetic, kind of rank smelling body in the doorway in front of him, “You gotta shower.”

“Can’t,” Nolan grunts, leaning heavily on the doorframe as if it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing (in to Travis, he tries not to think).

“Do you want–I can help you,” Travis tries, and takes Nolan’s weak, kind of relieved smile as a yes. He loops his head under Nolan’s arm and drags him to the bathroom. 

Standing in the shower isn’t going to work, because Nolan’s too tall, and it makes him dizzy anyway. So Travis brings in a Wawa crate that was part of Nolan’s bedside table, and sits Nolan down. “Pat, bud, you can probably shower in your boxers, but you’re gonna need to take your shirt off. It’s gross,” Travis says, trying not to tease. He figures all Nolan wants is some help and he doesn’t want to be anything but that, even though it mean’s being part of himself he isn’t used to, quiet and caring. He sighs as he pulls of his own shirt and waits for Nolan to slowly strip his, then detaches the shower head and waits for it to get warm.

The guys shower together all the time. This is actually less weird in terms of nudity than team showers; he’s seen every guy’s ass like 50 times and they all agree that G’s crown of best ass should rightfully be passed down to Carter. Travis thinks Nolan is quite competitive for that spot, but just shrugs it off. 

This is different, though. Nolan’s–Nolan’s fucking. Weak. The water is taking forever to warm up, which gives Travis time to think.

He’s never seen Nolan this vulnerable before. 

He’s always been a cool, calculated guy, not much for emotions and only really an easy laugh when Travis is around, which makes Travis’ cheeks warm. Never one to look like he’s hurting in a game or in practice, always himself. In control of himself. Exactly how he puts himself out to the world, just the way he wants it to be, the focused kid who’s gonna change the franchise.

His first bad migraine, the day before they were supposed to leave to fish, Travis could see Nolan break, fumble with the strength he had to try to make it seem like he wasn’t hurting, like he wasn’t afraid he’d never not be in pain again. 

Warmdrunk when they get too deep, too fast, even then, Nolan shares vulnerability, but he’s in control, still. Shares what he’s comfortable with, gently holds the rest behind his temples, thinking, almost shared but not quite. Travis wouldn’t push, of course, there are certain things that he thinks he’s never going to be able to tell Nolan, as much as he wants to. 

But this isn’t the same. 

Nolan isn’t even trying to pretend he’s not fucking destroyed by this last episode, no chirps, no nothing. Just raw, defeated, pain.

The water is warm.

He rinses him off, hands him a loofah with some body wash and Travis thinks that just the shower is making him feel a little bit better, because Nolan manages to actually sufficiently wash his chest and body.

Nolan;

He feels a little more human in the shower already, because of the water or his nerves a little bit on end with the close proximity of Travis over him, watching carefully as he washes his body down. But that’s kind of all he can muster, running on pain pills, gatorade, and barely any food, as he sighs and puts down the loofah, feeling the warm water roll down his back as Travis rinses him off. 

“Trav,” Nolan begins, tired already from his nervous brain running circles around itself, and from turning his face upwards to face Travis. 

“Yeah, Pats?” Travis responds, looking a little worried.

“Can you wash my hair for me?” Nolan asks, feebly.

“Sure I won’t hurt your head?” Travis asks, and Nolan just shakes his head. “’S fine.”

Travis points the showerhead at Nolan’s head with one hand, and grabs shampoo with the other, and Nolan sinks farther into his skin. He figures this is what rock bottom is, needing someone to come to your house to wash your fucking hair for you.

Travis puts the showerhead down, and begins to lather Nolan’s hair, gently carting his fingers through his blonde mop. Nolan crumbles completely at the touch, the tenderness of it. It feels kind of nice, someone caring for you. He might cry, knowing that he can’t fucking wash his hair by himself and that he’s just such a fucking baby and just. As Travis is massaging his scalp, rinsing the shampoo out of it, Nolan breaks, as if he wasn’t already broken before.

Starts crying like a fucking baby, harder, when he hears a pained, “Oh, bud,” come from Travis behind him. Travis steps out of the shower and Nolan thinks this is it, everything is over, he’s the worst person ever, but then he comes back with the other Wawa crate and sits next to him in the shower, water still running, warm, beating on both of their backs, and drapes an easy hand over his shoulder while Nolan cries. 

Travis;

Travis has never been good at hiding emotions from anyone, especially Nolan. He only has enough energy to hide one emotion at a time, and that one is usually taken up. So he hopes Nolan doesn’t see two salty tears running down his cheek as he’s leaning his head against Travis’ shoulder. They can’t sit here forever, so Travis sighs as he turns off the water and helps Nolan to his feet.

“Gonna go get a change of clothes for you, yeah?” Travis says, handing Nolan a towel and Nolan nods.

Travis walks down the hallway to Nolan’s bedroom. Nothing crazy, kind of like Travis’ room, messy, gray, and with bland Ikea furniture. He grabs Nolan a pair of boxers, some softish shorts and a shirt Travis gave him. In the bathroom, Nolan slowly gets dressed while Travis returns to the bedroom, stripping his bedsheets and gathering dirty clothes to put in the wash but not _that_ sock. Vaguely, Travis wonders if you could jack off during a migrane or if it wouldn’t work because the pain would distract you, and then he’s thinking of at least 12 different things that he can’t think about now, so he shakes his head and stuffs the sheets and clothes in the washing machine, smiling a bit because he knows the detergent Nolan uses is some lavender stuff that smells nice.

Travis is still wearing his wet shorts, he realizes, so he walks back to the door where he dropped his bag and digs up his spare clothes, a little crusty but not so bad. Sees Nolan walk slow out of the bathroom, and quickly changes, grabbing both of their wet stuff and tossing it in the wash with the rest.

Nolan;

Nolan gives himself a mental fist bump for putting clothes on himself. At least he’s somewhat functional. He lies down on the couch and closes his eyes. He always, always wants to be asleep all the time, not tired, just doesn’t want to be awake. But Travis’ here, even if he’s only there because Nolan is half-dead right now. So he opens his eyes, to Travis standing over him with a kind of sweet smile on his face. He thinks Travis might be blushing, and he knows he’s probably red, but his cheeks are red all the time so who cares. (He cares, Nolan thinks)

“Thought you were already asleep, Pat,” Travis says, walking towards the kitchen. “Watcha want to eat? You have, uh, different colors of Tupperware to chose from.”

Nolan groans. The meal prep isn’t bad but he just wants to eat normal food again and just wants to sleep, actually no, Travis is here, so he wants to be awake, but doesn’t want to eat. 

“I don’t want to eat,” Nolan grumbles

“Okay, but you have to, bud” Travis responds with a sympathetic sigh. “How ‘bout blue tupperware–chicken, I think?” He asks, looking back at Nolan on the couch. Nolan grunts what Travis takes for a yes, so Travis reheats it in the microwave and goes back to his bag to pull out not one, not two, but _three_ protein bars. Nolan would be jealous if they weren’t the flavor that he hates but Travis loves. Actually, he is a little jealous.

Travis plops down on the coffee table across from him with his food, and they eat together in silence. It should be uncomfortable, because they’re (Travis) always talking, but it reminds him of the quiet on a roadie when he’s about to fall asleep but can’t, like a warm hug. He tries not to cry again, because crying over reheated bland chicken pasta is really, truly, pathetic.

They eat in silence, and Travis’ phone bings because he has a practice and has to go. On the way out, he apologizes for waking Nolan up it’s okay, Nolan says. He couldn’t sleep anyway. Travis offers to stop by the next morning before they leave to DC. Travis smiles on his way out. Nolan is glad he’s awake. 

* * *

February 8th

Travis;

He stops by, just like he promised. He feels kind of silly, showing up in his dress clothes like it’s some sort of date or something. He knows Nolan would be dressing better than him anyways, and kind of laughs to himself. He still breaks the speed limit driving to Nolan’s apartment.

Nolan’s just been back from the gym, because working out is the only think keeping him sane right now, and he’s a little sweaty. Reminds Travis of sweaty locker rooms and wrestling too close. 

They only talk for a little bit, but it’s more easy, more friendly, chirping at each other and Travis can’t keep a smile off his face. This is Nolan again, quiet but chirpy, a friend he can’t help falling in line with. 

He really only has five or ten minutes to chat, and curses himself for not getting up earlier to talk to Nolan more before he leaves. His alarm goes off three times and gets an angry text from G asking where the hell he is before he finally leaves. At the door, Pat says, kinda quiet, kinda soft, “Hey. You should take my extra key. Just uh, so you don’t have to wake me up or whatever.” Travis smiles wide, and takes the key from Pat’s hands, forcing himself not to linger because something inside him wants to, something he tries not to think about. 

“Text me whenever, Pats,” Travis responds, and leaves, feeling better than he has in weeks. He hopes Nolan is too. 

At Voorhees, G is waiting with a scowl. “What took you so long, Konecny? You know the meeting time and it’s not that early.”

Travis wants to tell him about Nolan, why he’s late, but he doesn’t. He’s too happy to care that G is mad at him and that Hayes will snore in his sleep next to him on the bus, and decides to keep that happy to himself. Just for him. He figures Nolan probably doesn’t want a hundred texts from the team asking how he’s doing anyway, he’s seen how much he shrinks away from their worried looks the rare times he’s been to the ice.

At the ice, Travis grins as he receives his good luck text. Smiley face emoji. 

“Gotcha text, huh, Teeks?” Hayes says with a clap on the back as he sees Travis smiling to himself in the hallway to the ice.

“Yeah, bud,” Travis responds with a smile.

They crush the Caps like bugs, even scoring on a powerplay. It’s fucking incredible. Coots is a powerhouse, G gets his 800th point, and NAK gets his Gordie Howe hat trick. And yeah, Travis fucking scores. He hopes Nolan is watching.

Nolan;

Nolan is watching, and whoops at the TV when Travis scores so loud it makes his head hurt a little. Man, he’s glad he’s awake. He slept like a baby the last night and actually had energy enough to switch the laundry and put new sheets on his bed. He texts Travis a “good game bud :)” with a smiley face, and when he goes to bed, sends another one saying thanks for doing his laundry. He sleeps well again that night. 

It’s been an okay week without migraines so bad he can’t turn on his lights, and resuming his regular good luck :) texts. The team loses 2 of the 4 last games, but Travis doesn’t seem to care that much. Mentions that they would’ve won against Tampa if Nolan were there, and Nolan’s smiles more than a little. Over discord, they talk about fishing, hunting, how shitty the new Fortnite update was, whatever. Nolan doesn’t bring up the games, partly because he doesn’t want to make Travis feel bad, partly because he misses the team. But he sleeps better, is awake without pain more, and only has one day where he lies on the couch doing nothing because his head hurts. 

But that’s been a constant for a while, and he’s grateful that this time it’s just once.

He invites Travis over the 16th to game again. He figures that anything they play will be loud shouting at each other, but the game could be quiet, maybe. It would be nice to just sit on the couch, elbowing each other way more than necessary.

* * *

February 16th.

Travis;

The team has two days off, so that means he has more time to talk to Nolan. He’s back to gaming, which is great, because it means he must be feeling better enough to look at a screen for a bit. Travis wonders if Nolan still has to turn the volume down. He gets a text.

**Pattycakes** : wanna come over and play mariokart

Wait, go over to his place and game? Is Nolan even ready for how loud that will be? He doesn’t want to hurt him, but he does just want to hang out with him in person. See his stupid face, or whatever.

**me** : you sure it wont be too loud?

**Pattycakes** : should be fine. 

beating u will make my migraine go away so im not worried

Travis snorts. There’s Nolan, just like usual. He must be feeling better.

**me** : u fuckin wish bud

on my way

Travis is surprised he hasn’t gotten a speeding ticket yet.

He’s practically skipping up the stairs to Nolan’s apartment and suppresses a leap of joy when a showered, fully awake looking Nolan opens the door. “Hey Teeks,” Nolan says with a grin.

“Glad you showered, nasty,” Travis retorts back with the same easy smile, and they both laugh as they head to the couch.

Travis really, really tries not to yell. But it’s hard when eighty percent of Mario Kart is trash talking and Nolan is right, he is beating him soundly. Travis is pretty sure he’s only won because Nolan let him.

“Pat,” Travis huffs, “did you fucking practice this at home? How are you still beating me?”

“The extra inches actually make me go faster, shorty,” Nolan throws back. Travis rolls his eyes. He kind of likes that Nolan is taller, because even though Travis is the biggest in the room personality wise, Nolan takes up more space, and he thinks they even out. They fit together. He won’t go deeper than that, because he’s still losing and it’s part of the emotion he tries to ignore around Nolan.

It goes on like this for a while, Nolan mostly winning, Travis mostly losing, chirping at each other in the way that buds do. Loudish in kind of a headhurtyish way for Nolan, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Just smiles the way he does, when his eyes get all squinty. It’s not a smile everyone on the team gets to see, and Travis is protective over it. Then it’s time for Nolan’s call with his doctors, and Travis has to leave which is a bummer but he’s not sure how long he would have lasted shoulder to shoulder with Nolan. It’s embarrassing, really, but he just tries not to think about it and boots his brain in the direction of figuring out what Nolan _can_ eat so they can have snacks when they game. 

Nolan walks him to the door, and looks like he’s trying to say something, but doesn’t. He looks at the ground, while Travis looks at him. 

Travis’ solution for when Nolan doesn’t have anything to say is to talk, but he’s sure that’s not what Nolan is looking for somehow. So he does the second best thing, and pulls him in for a big hug which kind of catches Nolan off guard, but it’s strong and sweet and smells like Nolan’s lavender detergent. 

“Glad you’re back, bud,” Travis says with a smile and pulls away. He doesn’t hear the door close until he’s in the elevator.

Nolan;

Nolan thinks about that fucking hug all the way through the meeting with his doctors, all the way through making his lame dinner, all the way through the night and into bed. It was just a bro hug, nothing more. Travis was just glad he could play games with him, because they’re friends. Buds. 

It doesn’t help that his chest flared up when he felt Travis’ head just on his shoulder, that unnamed feeling he pretends he can’t describe resurfacing. Like it always does, really, but usually Nolan can ignore it. This time it’s a little harder, but Nolan does it anyway, a routine, like clockwork. Like texting Travis good luck. 

Kind of ironic, he thinks, but then he decides that now is one of the times he doesn’t want to be awake, not with these thoughts. So he falls asleep, wishing he was awake somewhere else in time.

* * *

February 18th.

Nolan;

He sends his good luck text. Smiley face.

Settles in to watch the game.

Hayes Travis Farabee are the line to beat this game, and once again, Nolan wishes that was him. But that line is incredible together, something wild. Hayes scores an impossble ricochet shot to start the game off. Coots scores a breakaway goal, and Nolan thinks maybe being in a line with him would be fine to save messing up the Hayes Travis Farabee one, as if he’s coming back. Coots has never made a bad play in his life, so maybe it would be good, and then he would be able to watch Travis play and still chat on the bench with him, easy and close. He can’t decide which he likes more, playing with him or adjacent to him. Probably with him, big hugs after a score, clunky gloves lingering a little too long. Travis tips a goal in and looks just like he always does after a goal, giddy and confident like he can do anything and Nolan wishes he was on the ice celebrating with him. Or that he was there. Watching. Maybe he should go watch a game in person again. The game ends 5-1, and Nolan decides that his new extra part of the good luck text is the good game text after. Smiley face. 

Because he can, he ads a “good goal bud. Wish I was on the ice to see it”

He wonders if this is overkill, but he can’t overthink _everything_ he does around Travis. That would be too many things, plus he already spends enough time overthinking every offhanded pat on the back or whatever. God, he is just pathetic. So he goes to bed before he makes any worse decisions, as if texting your friend, your bud, your bro, that you wish you were playing is so terrible, and straight to the gym the next morning.

February 19th.

Travis;

Not until morning does travis see the two whole texts left from Nolan. He smiles reading them, and his Nolan-shaped hole next to him at the morning skate that day seems a little bit bigger. He texts Nolan back a “wish u were here” before practice begins, even though he knows Nolan is at the gym too and won’t see the text. When practice ends, he tests his luck and asks if Nolan wants him to stop by. You know, to check in or whatever. As he pulls out of the parking lot, he gets a text back. 

**Pattycakes** : sure

cant game tho my head hurts

Shit, should he even come over then? He doesn’t want to intrude, but the side of him that hasn’t quite suppressed that pesky emotion yet pipes up and says no, you should go. His head hurts, just make sure it’s ok. Or whatever.

**me** : dw im bringing snacks

Travis does bring snacks. It’s like, weird Trader Joe’s shit, but Nolan likes it, or pretends to like it. It’s not that bad, just like. Weird veggie texture. Travis asked Hartsy for suggestions, because he’s a pretty healthy guy, so he know’s the food isn’t bad, but it’s definitely weird Hart food. They talk some, about whatever, like they used to, except this time they’re sober. It doesn’t make much of a difference for Travis, really, if anything he doesn’t yell as much, but for Nolan, Travis can see that he kind of wishes he was. It’s like it takes so much energy to just be normal right now. 

So Nolan asks a few questions, and Travis does the talking for the two of them. At a hundred miles a minute, still, but a little quieter as usual as they sit crosslegged on the couch, in the dimness of their apartment with the weird-ass Trader Joe’s health snacks. 

Nolan;

The snacks aren’t so bad, actually. Nolan appreciates the thought, at least, and asks Travis about his line. It’s gonna hurt to hear about it, probably, but he feels like he should be a good friend and ask because it’s not like hockey suddenly stopped for Travis when it did for Nolan.

“Bees is a good kid, yeah,” Travis says. “Got a good head on his shoulders. A little stupid, but so were you,” he says with a laugh, and goes on about a play or something. The “so were you” kind of makes Nolan sad, like Travis is saying that he’s just like someone else. Not quite replaceable, but not different. 

Nolan asks about Hayes, hoping that Travis hates him or something so he’ll feel better. He knows Travis doesn’t hate him, but still. It would be nice.

“Haysie is the best man, you’d hate him. He’s like me, never shuts up,” Travis laughs, and inside Nolan wilts a little. Maybe Travis hangs out with him less because migraines make him want to talk less. But Travis continues, “He’s a high-volume guy, yaknow, but I can’t talk to him like you because we both keep talking and nobody has time to listen,” Travis says, looking back at Nolan. Okay, so Nolan actually is important. Fine. “We stick together, bud,” Nolan adds, pushing his confidence, “like glue”.

Travis smiles, that weird soft-sweet smile that he never does around the team. “Yeah Pats, like glue. Or maybe hockey tape, because we play hockey but then it’s not really sticking it’s more holding right–” and Travis is off again, and Nolan is content to sit and listen to Travis go on about whatever, because they stick, like glue. Or tape, or whatever, him listening and Travis talking, filling the silence between them on the couch. 

Travis eventually winds down, and gently asks Nolan how his head’s been feeling, if he’s doing okay. At home for so long, you know. Nolan sighs. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but then again he also does, because for some reason, Travis is the one he feels like would listen to him. Which is stupid, because he has the attention span of a goldfish and always talks, but he does listen to Nolan, on the rare occasion he has anything of interest to say. 

So he starts.

He talks about the pain, and feeling like he’s never on the team, about how he can’t even go to the rink without feeling like shit, about the lights, the sounds, just how much he thought this was going to be his year, to turn that pain around, to finally get the fuck out of this, and now oh god his face is hot because he looks up and Travis is looking at him, sympathetic, and now his throat is stinging and he doesn’t want to cry in front of Travis again, wants to pretend that it was a moment of weakness, like he doesn’t sometimes cry in the shower because it hurts.  
Travis doesn’t say anything, just scoots across the couch a little bit and pulls him into a big, tight hug. They don’t say anything for a while, Travis gently scratching his head, Nolan trying to breathe again. Stuck like glue, huh. That thing in the back of his mind, rooted in his heart, now threatening to clog his throat is getting harder to ignore. 

Travis;

Nolan smells like lavender, a little bit of sweat, and also kind of like weird health snacks. But it’s comfortable here, stroking his head. Buds. Pals. They’re buds, so it shouldn’t hurt so bad to pull away from this hug. Travis counts to ten four times before he finally lets go, tries to do it slow and careful like he means it but also doesn’t mean it, tries to ignore the fucking obvious feeling that he keeps pushing down clambering into his chest. Instead of saying anything stupid, Travis says, “We’ll be away tomorrow, ok? But then we’ll be home for a bit, literally text me whenever. I’m here.” He considers adding that he would literally call in sick for this game to stay with Nolan if that was what he wanted. But that’s a little too much, even for the moment. 

Nolan smiles, that sweet soft smile only Travis really gets to see.

Travis sighs and orders himself to get off the couch, go home. He shouldn’t push his luck too much further and he’s pretty sure Nolan has a call with his doctors soon anyway. Not like he knows his schedule, or anything. He halfheartedly grabs his bag from the counter and walks kinda slowly to the door, savoring whatever of Nolan is in the air around him.

“Thanks for coming over, Teeks,” Nolan calls after him. Travis smiles. “Anytime, Pats,” is his reply. His shirt, he realizes, smells like Nolan.

* * *

February, a bunch of it. An interlude, until March 8th

Nolan;

Nolan’s feeling better. He’s cautious to even think about him feeling better, because he doesn’t want to jinx it, but he is. No really bad migraines, since, well, since Travis had to come wash his hair for him. Some days are better than others, of course, but he’s doing okay. He and Travis have been seeing each other in person more, getting to hang out, almost like usual. It’s less loud, and there’s no wrestling, but they’re back to fighting each other like old friends, chirping at each other, whatever. The usual comfort of someone in your space resurges for Nolan, and you know what? He’s glad he’s awake. Even if he has to painfully push down that unnamed feeling for the sake of decency, and saving a friendship that he’s pretty sure is saving his sanity, it’s got to be worth it.

Travis;

They’re winning again. Nine fucking games in a row and the team is on fire. Travis wishes Nolan were here to win with them. But it’s okay, because they’ve been talking, easy conversation, going at each other like teammates again, and Travis is just glad to have his best friend back. It’s terrible though, how achy it feels to swallow whole his stupid, stupid thoughts that won’t stop coming up about the Nolan-shaped hole which has migrated from his next-door locker to the foot of his bed. Just waiting for Travis to fucking do something about it, which he does, because technically ignoring something is still doing something. 

March 9th.

Travis;

They’re playing the Bruins at home tomorrow, and Travis is stoked. The team is on a high and ready to beat the living shit out of Marchand, hopefully in a more sound way than the rat missing his penalty shot by being pathetic. He’s also kind of worried though, about the whole. Virus thing, or whatever it is. Nolan knows more about it than he does, because sometimes his doctors talk about it, but from what he says, it seems pretty scary. It’s not threatening Philly, yet, but the two of them are pretty sure it will. They may be NHL stupid, but anything that fucks with the season is something they think about a lot. Travis wonders what Nolan would do, more alone and more stuck in his house than he already is. He wonders what _Travis_ would do, without a buddy and equally stuck at home. The Nolan-shaped hole has a suggestion, but Travis ignores it.

Instead he spends twenty minutes convincing Nolan to come to their next home game, after the Florida trip, because he hasn’t been to the ice in forever, he’s feeling better, plus he’s a morale booster for the team. It’s true, but mostly for Travis. Nolan agrees, and tries not to smile. Travis grins.

He’s at Nolans for dinner, making something meal-plan approved while Travis dicks around on fortnite, not really doing anything impressive. Nolan is playing some god-awful indie shit that’s supposed to have impressive lyrics, but, “Patso, this music suuuucks,” Travis shouts from the couch.

“Requires brain cells to understand, Teeks. When you’re older, you’ll appreciate it,” Nolan shoots back, not looking up from the stove.

“The fuck do you mean? I’m literally older than you,” Travis responds with a snort.

“Yeah, but I’m taller, so it cancels out. You know, PEMDAS,” Nolan shoots back, looking back at Travis’ eye roll.

“Oh my GOD again, Pats? You gotta pull something better than being tall. Plus, math isn’t real anyways,” Travis says, completely sure of himself. He’s right, of course. Math is fake once you get into adding letters into it. And as far as high school went, that was most of it. “I’m changing the music.”

“First of all, math isn’t fake, numbers literally exist, and second of all if you put on Keith Suburban or whatever his name is I’m kicking you out,” Nolan retorts.

“It’s Keith Urban, and you can’t prove to me that math is real. Do you want songs about beer, trucks, or girls?” Travis asks, and ignores the Keith Urban slander. He _will_ argue about this later, but it’s going to be more fun making Nolan try to make him believe math is real.

“Can’t drink, don’t care about girls, so trucks,” Nolan responds, and Travis tries not to think too hard about why Nolan said he didn’t care about girls.

Nolan;

Nolan is thinking very hard (something that he didn’t do often until getting hit in the head, ironic, he knows) about two things: what the fuck does Travis even mean about math not being real, and his immediate regret in saying he doesn’t care about girls. Nolan’s never questioned who he was that much, his made up confidence as a kid became more and more real the more he practiced it, and he doesn’t necessarily find an issue with guys who are gay. A cousin of his is, has a real sweet husband, and that’s that. He’s found guys attractive, but never really entertained the thought of doing anything with any of them like he did girls. And sure, he’s given a couple of bro-jobs here and there because that’s what horny teammates on tournaments are for, and yeah, he hooked up with a few dudes one summer when he was _really_ bored at home, but ass is ass. He never thought about ‘being into guys’ as something he was into, until Travis.

Which is stupid, he thinks, because Travis is kind of short and kind of scraggly, but every now and then, when they’re fighting or wrestling, he thinks about what he’d like to come next. Not, like, often, or anything (in his definition of often which fits only this situation to make him feel better about himself), but enough. To think that maybe he could be into guys, but he really, really tries not to think about it, because he can’t decide what’s worse, the best friend or teammate part. So, like he tries to do with a bad migraine and the feeling of being a failure, Nolan tries to ignore it. Which is to say, it occupies a lot of his time. 

Travis puts on an utterly terrible song about trucks, and Nolan distracts himself with dinner, mumbling “how the hell can you just not believe in math…”

Travis hears him, of course, and launches into a tirade that’s weirdly existential about how numbers are fake and invented, and everything would still exist, even if we didn’t count it, therefore, math is fake. Kinda makes Nolan’s head hurt. But he’s entertaining his fantasy, the What Comes Next part of things, so he argues back, and they go on, on, and on, over dinner, on the couch. Nolan is exasperated, and really wants to fling travis into a wall. Not in that way. Okay, maybe in that way. He sighs, finally gives up the argument. “Okay, Teeks. Math isn’t real” His head hurts, not migrainey, but from thinking too hard about things he probably shouldn’t think about. Travis notices this shift, asks him if he’s ok. “Head hurts,” Nolan responds, suddenly really tired. Travis is silent for a minute, then asks, “Want me to scratch your head?”

Nolan gets up from lying on the couch with his legs over the arm, looking kind of confused. “Do I want you to–what?”

Travis flushes a little bit, but continues, “You know, like-I dunno how else to explain it, but it feels nice?” He finishes, kind of feebly. 

Nolan blinks. He’s not quite sure what Travis actually means, but in the process of furiously beating down the excited unnamed feeling, he agrees, and lets Travis pull his head onto his lap. The TV is on kind of low, some dumb replay of a Leafs game, and Travis begins to card his hands through Nolans hair, massaging his scalp. 

Oh. This is what he meant. 

Nolan practically melts in his touch, goes red a little, and thanks himself for always keeping the overhead lights off in his apartment for migraines. Hopefully Travis can’t see. 

“Okay?” Travis asks.

“Feels nice, yeah,” Nolan responds, letting out a contented hum despite himself, trying desperately to control his heartbeat. Man, he’s a goner.

They sit like this for a while, until the Leafs game is finally over in a shootout. It’s late, and Travis probably has to go home. Travis sighs and gently gets up from underneath Nolan, leaving him lying on the couch, looking up at Travis. 

“I gotta go, Pat. See you soon, bud” Travis says, as he walks away, leaving Nolan’s apartment and shutting the door behind him. Nolan lays on the sofa until the heat from Travis fully recedes from the cushions, which is a long time. 

* * *

March 10th

Travis;

Even with Nolan’s good luck text with two (2) smiley faces, they lose. To the Bruins, which double sucks, because it’s the bruins, and triple sucks, because it broke their winning streak. And the whole situation sucks four times over (quadruple? Travis isn’t sure that’s a real word, but although four as a math thing might be fake, he’s pretty sure it comes after three) because he doesn’t have any time to talk to Nolan before he has to get on a plane to Florida. The whole COVID situation is getting worse, and the next morning, G warns them that they might not even play this game. Florida’s always a shitshow when it comes to any type of population management, so Travis hopes that this is just a Florida Thing, but his gut says he’s wrong. So on the 12th, after a sleepless night at the hotel, the team flies back to their apartments. And quarantine hits them. For some reason, Travis thinks he should, like, tell Nolan or whatever, like he’s incapable of figuring it out on his own, so he stops by Nolan’s apartment on the way back to his, uses Nolan’s key to open the door. Nolan’s on the couch, doing fucking sudoku like an old person. 

“Hey, nerd,” Travis says, dropping his bags on the floor.

“I can’t look at screens, idiot. The hell are you doing here?” Nolan asks. 

“Florida kicked us out, basically. ‘Cause of COVID or whatever,” Travis responds, loosening his tie and taking his jacket off, draping it over a chair. Nolan looks worried, and Travis tries not to because he’s also. Worried. 

“Is the game, like postponed or something? Like are you going to go back and play, I dunno, later?” Nolan asks.

“I dunno. I don’t–” Travis looks somewhere else trying not to show how upset he is about the possibility of losing a season, especially to Nolan who lost the whole damn thing. “I don’t know,” he finishes with a sigh, and lifts Nolan’s legs up to plop down on the edge of the couch.

“Fletch is supposed to call us in, like twenty minutes to tell us what to do. Mind if I chill here, until then?” Travis asks. Nolan nods, and goes back to his sudoku, Travis nervously scrolling on his phone, one hand on Nolan’s ankle. 

Nolan;

Travis’ phone rings. Nolan tries to get up, but Travis waves him off, saying it’s fine, he’s on the team, he can be here. Nolan smiles a little bit at this, but Travis doesn’t see, just puts the phone on speaker and stares into it, as if that will tell him what he’s going to hear any sooner. 

Basically, what Travis has to do, is quarantine in place for two weeks, make sure he isn’t sick, and then go from there. Which means Nolan will not be able to see Travis for two weeks and God knows how much longer after that. Nolan looks at Travis sadly, and finds him looking back too. Sad. Like he might miss this. After twenty painful minutes of everyone having questions and nobody having answers, Travis hangs up. He looks utterly and truly defeated. Head in his hands, staring at the floor. Nolan knows how he feels, to have only the most important pastime in your life taken away from you. He reaches up, pats Travis on the back. Tries not to let his hand linger longer than it has to. Travis leans his head back up on the couch and groans.

“Fucking shit, dude. There’s no way we’ll be back. No way,”

Nolan doesn’t try to convince him otherwise. It’s like his headaches. The first few weeks he spent hoping he would be back for preseason just made him feel more horrible about the whole situation. Travis lays his head in his hands, glaring at the wall. 

“Guess we’re both outta hockey then, huh Teeks,” Nolan says, trying to eke a smile out of Travis, who grins a little. “Yeah, bud,” he says, looking back at Nolan, almost fondly, Nolan thinks. 

Nolan can tell that Travis doesn’t feel like talking, so he just sits there in silence with Travis for a while, Travis’ hand on his ankle, staring at the wall. 

After a while, Travis sighs and gets up. Grabs his bags, and looks about as beat as Nolan has seen him in a long, long time. “I guess I’ll see you in two weeks, then,” Travis says, looking sadder. Nolan knows that Travis knows what he knows–they can’t pretend it’s going to be just two weeks. Travis stares at his bag, like he’s waiting for something. 

Nolan tries to channel some of Travis’ mile-a-minute brain skills to think of something, anything to say, to make this better. He can’t think of anything he wanted to hear when he was told he was on a “week-to-week” playing basis, nothing that made him feel like he had any hope, so he blurts out “You can stay here”. Turns red immediately, of course. “I have, uh, like a guest room you could use. If you want. You don’t have to. Obviously, but…” Nolan trails off. This was probably the worst possible thing he could say, actually. He makes a mental note to never speak again. 

But Travis smiles, an easy, relieved sort of smile. “Yeah, Pat, that would be nice”.

Nolan thinks that he may have made the worst/best decision of the year. 

“I should probably tell my mom I’m not coming home this summer,” Nolan says, and dials his mother. She picks up instantly, of course. Travis is leaning by the couch behind his head when the FaceTime connects.

“Hey Nolan, honey, oh hi…Travis? Right?” His mom says, smiling. Travis nods and waves. “When are you coming home, hon? I don’t know how safe it will be to fly out soon, so I wanna get you back as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, uh, about that, Mom, I think I’m going to stay up here for a bit,” Nolan says, trying to put on his This is a Good Idea voice.

“Are you sure? With your, uh–” his mom hesitates, looking at Nolan, then at Travis.

“It’s fine, Mom. With the migraines. Teeks was here for the first bad one the beginning of last summer and checks up on me.”

“Well that’s very nice, hon, but I don’t want you two to have to break quarantine about that,” his mom responds, looking concerned, like all moms kind of perpetually do.

“Mom, Travis is staying with me over the summer. It’s fine,” Nolan responds, as Madison shoves her head on screen. “Hey Maddie–Teeks, this is my sister Madison. Dunno where Aimee is, probably at the gym.”

Travis smiles and waves, says a little hi, and Madison raises her eyebrows at Nolan. He doesn’t know why. So they talk for a bit, and once the call is over, Nolan feels like Travis might have met his parents, like, wrong, but he’s not sure why he feels like that. Doesn’t want to try to figure it out.

* * *

March 12th.

Travis;

Travis is too happy to think about all the things that could go wrong. He and Nolan, camping out, basically, in Nolan’s apartment, for however long this bullshit lasts. He tries to tell himself that the reason why he’s so excited is because he won’t miss his friend, but it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that the Nolan-shaped hole he’s about to fix some problems with isn’t just about that. It’s, well, something else. But like always, Travis finds a quick distraction for his aching problem that won’t go away, because now he and Nolan are on their way to get stuff from Travis’ apartment. They’re going to have to clear it out in a July anyway, because his lease is ending soon, but not yet. He can’t tease himself with the idea of permanency. It would be cruel.

So he puts on his feel-good country and hums along as he speeds to his apartment.

“Jesus Teeks, you tryna kill us or what?” Nolan says, gripping the door handle thing. Travis just laughs. 

At his apartment, Travis stuffs as much of his wardrobe and general important shit, like a toothbrush and a phone charger or whatever, as he can into his other suitcases, while Nolan wanders into the kitchen to collect Travis’ measly remaining food. They make quick work of his apartment, Nolan grabbing a few games and Travis his three favorite hats (just in case) on the way out. Nolan looks down into the Trader Joe’s bag packed with the food Travis has left. “Do you eat _anything_ other than protein bars?” He asks, looking mildly concerned. “Yeah,” Travis responds, fumbling with the keys to his trunk. “Used to cook more, but I kind of only know how to do fish and I don’t trust Philly fish,” he responds with a grunt, finally getting the trunk open and heaving his bags into the back. 

He sings along to country on the way back, and in the mirror, he catches Nolan smiling a little bit.

Nolan;

God, the country music really does suck. But in a high-school-nostalgia-can’t-not-sing-along kind of way. Nolan pretends he doesn’t know the lyrics, but he’s heard this playlist a million times for the past two years. He’s not going to give Travis the satisfaction of singing along with him. Maybe another time.

Travis’ elbow is on the console, just hovering there, hand tapping along to the beat of the music on the steering wheel. Momentarily, Nolan thinks about it. But he decides instead to snack on the rest of Travis’ goldfish and settle into the nice old car air-sharing feeling of the moment. He wishes he wouldn’t have to keep ignoring that stupid unnamed ache, because that would make things a lot easier. 

At Nolan’s apartment, he shows Travis into his guest room, which was set up once by his mom who came to see him when he moved in and hasn’t been touched since. It’s nice enough, he figures; there’s a set of drawers and a bed, so. Doesn’t think about why it feels…wrong, somehow. Like the roadies where they had to room apart for whatever reason.

Travis doesn’t complain, starts unpacking his stuff halfway while Nolan sits on the bed, until Travis gives up halfway and suggests they play Mario Kart, convinced he’s going to win this time. 

Nolan lets him win twice, because he’s feeling generous. Travis has another call with Fletch, even though it’s only been a few hours. Says now they’re going to need facemasks and encourages them to stay in Philly, at least for now. Nolan orders facemasks, while Travis orders sushi (from their favorite place, of course) to the apartment. 

And that’s kind of–it, really. 

Days slip into weeks into months with nothing to do. Nolan and Travis start running at the Schulkyill together, and yes, Nolan wins the ending sprint most of the time. Travis does groceries for the first few weeks, because he says Nolan “cannot get hit with COVID and migraines, that’s like, only having the toes of your body work, or something,” which makes literally no sense at all but Nolan appreciates it. Eventually, they do grocery runs together, which gives Nolan an excuse to stand a little closer than normal, because he wants to make sure to properly socially distance. That’s it. 

They’re back to (minus hockey, obviously) being _pattyandteeks_ , chilling, doing their thing, wrestling a little, yelling a lot, having an okay time, camping out in Nolan’s apartment. Travis still scratches Nolan’s head when it hurts.

Nolan’s migraines are going away. His med staff is ecstatic, partly because of the migraines and partly because they don’t have to risk infection to get to him when something goes bad. Because Travis is there.

Travis;

Travis comes home from a quick grocery run to Nolan pacing the kitchen, on the phone. He doesn’t really think anything of it, just puts the stuff away and plops down on the other couch, scrolling through the twitter account he definitely doesn’t have. 

Nolan gets off the phone and looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, somehow. “Teeks…I might be able to–actually play again. Like next season,” Nolan says.

“Holy shit, really?” Travis exclaims, jumping up off the couch.

“Yeah, they said I might still get them, but as long as I wear the fishtank on the ice, I can actually play.”

Travis practically leaps over to Nolan and gives him the biggest hug he can muster. Holds him tight for a minute, then pulls away and grabs Nolan’s face in his hands, shaking it a little. “Patty, you can skate!” Travis says, watching Nolan start to smile, “You an’ me! We’re back, baby,” he says, and holds Nolan’s face in his hands for a second too long before he lets go. Hates himself for it. 

* * *

In July, Travis’ lease is over. Travis brings it up over dinner, casually, or at least he tries to. He tries to seem like he’s been thinking about this but also like he hasn’t in that cool, nonchalant way Nolan talks about anything during media shit. 

The thing is, he’s been thinking about this, since, like, the day Nolan offered him the room. He told himself it would be great, back to them being buds, best friends. But it also made it worse, because the Nolan-shaped hole in his life is still fucking there, and it takes a lot of mental effort to ignore _why_ it won’t go away. 

Selfishly, though, he knows this is a perfect situation, for him, at least. Leaving Nolan would mean probably never seeing him in person, and staying here would mean seeing him every day and not having to listen to his neighbors having sex through the walls. It seems like there’s a good choice here. But he can’t force that on Nolan, so he tries to bring it up in a way that doesn’t.

“So my lease is about to be up. For my apartment,” He says, seriously, but with a mouthfull of pasta so not that seriously. 

“Really,” Nolan responds, expertly nonchalant. How the hell does he do that, the whole never showing emotion in your face thing.

“Yeah.”

Nolan doesn’t say anything, just eats his pasta.

“Sooooo…” Travis tries to think of a logical excuse for asking to move in with Nolan. They’re not young enough and paid little enough to need to have roommates, they grew out of that a year or so ago. So there’s no real reason why they should live in the same apartment. They can afford to live separately, and honestly, having a roommate is objectively worse than living alone,if your roommate sucks. But Nolan doesn’t, so, he uses the best excuse he can come up with, which is really kind of weak, which is, “I feel like it would be, like, bad for germs or whatever for me to move out. Cause I don’t want to get sick,” Travis finishes weakly. It’s a fucking terrible excuse, because it makes no sense at all, given that they would go to living together to living alone, not spreading germs even in the slightest. Travis knows Nolan knows this. 

“Okay,” is all Nolan says. Travis asks him again, just to be sure.

“So you’re fine with me, staying here?” Travis asks.

“Long as you pay some rent and buy food, yeah,” Nolan says with a shrug.

“Sick, bud,” Travis responds with a grin, “Gonna be like roadies except without the shitty omelet stations.”

Nolan just rolls his eyes. “My house is better than a fucking hotel, Teeks.”

“I know, Pat.”

They move out Travis’ stuff the next Thursday, into a storage locker, gathering the rest of Travis’ stuff that fits into his car. The other Xbox, some towels, sheets, adult shit. That night, the semi-permanency of the situation hits travis like Hayes on the backboard. And fuck, it hurts.

Travis knows he can’t do this forever. He can’t keep living with Nolan, can’t keep fucking taking advantage of the fact that the pandemic and Nolan’s migraines or whatever make it so easy to find an excuse to say. It’s not fair to Nolan, putting him in a situation where it works for Travis but maybe Nolan doesn’t want to but he’s just being nice? Travis can tell he’s losing it, because since when has Nolan been nice on purpose. 

Okay, so maybe Nolan’s okay with him staying, but Travis can’t take it. He’s got to get an apartment or something, stop torturing himself for the sake of the stupid Nolan-Sized hole in his life. He wishes he was in a dingy hotel in Arizona (they are, objectively, the worst hotels) together, sitting on the bed or playing or whatever, elbows or legs or shoulders touching, which always haunts his dreams that night. 

Travis thinks about how much he cares for this stupid fucking blonde idiot, who he tried to make friends with at training camp two years ago and became the most important person in his life. Just like that. 

Travis thinks about how much of Nolan he gets to see that nobody else sees, those soft sweet smiles, the migraines, the nonsense, whatever. And it kills him, because that’s exactly what makes him fall for Nolan more, the fact that he can be honest and himself with him and he thinks Nolan can too, and he can’t ruin this friendship over a stupid fucking–okay, he’ll say it–crush, which is probably more than a crush but a crush is all he can admit right now. 

Travis thanks himself for coming out when he was seventeen during juniors hockey so he doesn’t have to deal with this type of deep ass thinking now, because thinking is hard.

But it’s two a.m., so he goes all the way, and keeps thinking. 

About the way his chest feels like it’s on fire, in a good way, when Nolan pins him to the ground trying to win a fight, about how fucking _long_ he’s spent trying not to look at Nolan a little too much, a little too long, about how he loves the fact that when they hug he feels small, in a good way. And the fucking squinty big ass smile that Travis would take a skate to the face for. He’d do just about anything to make him smile. But he can’t have these things, a life where this works with Nolan. He can’t. He won’t let himself hope for something so impossible.

And now, God, he’s living in the same house with the guy he’s absolutely gone for, no coming back. And it’s going to kill him.

Nolan;

Because Nolan’s cleared for what the doctors called “appropriate amounts of athletic contact”, he can actually wrestle Travis’ ass to the ground like normal. It’s a normal guy thing, he figures, to wrestle with your friends on the living room carpet over the last water ice in the fridge. Travis never wins unless he gets the surprise factor, which is not very often in a kind of small apartment for two. Travis is small and kind of easy to throw around, which is exactly how Nolan likes to release stress after a particularly difficult day of doing nothing and arguing about which Netflix show to watch and why 10 Things is a better romcom because it’s based on Shakespeare so it’s intellectual. 

But anyway, the casual friendly battles strongly reinforce that unnamed feeling a little too. Deep down, kind of a fiery feeling in his stomach. Nolan knows exactly what _that_ is, but that’s really something to address with some amount of self-reflection. Which he’d been doing a lot more of, but this, ugh, takes so much effort. Whatever. 

That night, Nolan tries to listen to music to distract himself from the Travis hug. The hands on his face. The way he felt, smiling at him, the way Travis looked like he was shining in happiness. Then Fall Out Boy comes on. And Nolan knows what that means.

His head rushes back to the end of the ’18 year where he was missing the season at home in Winnipeg and watching through highlights of games, when he stumbled upon a highlights video of Travis’ goals for the season. He’d watched it, of course, and it had the same overused Fall Out Boy songs that they always do, and now he knows he’s literally never going to be able to listen to them again without thinking of Travis, which is unfortunate because he loves that band and is trying very hard not to think about Travis. Like that, at least. It felt like the entire Flyers franchise was torturing him, with the “bromance” videos or whatever. It was just cruel, honestly.

Nolan stares at the ceiling and tries not to cry. If you asked anyone of his teammates, they would say Nolan was never a crier. He is, though, just in private and if he gets to into a movie where people fall in love. 

He feels so bad for Travis, making him take care of him, looking sad, the softish smiles he gets, scratching Nolan’s head sometimes when he gets a headache. It’s not fair for him to have to do this and it makes Nolan ache for him even more, which hurts.

And then he thinks again, for what must be the fortieth time this week, about whether he’s gay, and at this point, he probably is, given that he both has utterly and completely fallen for Travis but also wants to slam him up against the wall. He’s fucked. That’s for sure. 

* * *

July 13th. 

Travis; 

Practice has finally started and Travis is over the moon, to put it lightly. He can’t wait to get back on the ice, and even though Nolan can’t go with him, the fact that he’ll be there, next year, makes him feel a little bit better. But Travis knows Nolan can’t be there, like _that,_ so he decides that he’s going to stop touching Nolan, like, at all, because he’s gotta detach those feelings in some way. Which is the worst idea he’s ever had, probably, but he tries not to think about it. Travis is trying not to think about lots of things, right now, which is stressing him out. 

It’s really quite difficult, now that he’s trying it. It means he can’t wrestle so Nolan wins all the shows and the last fruit cup and he has to watch 10 Things _again_ , and has to curl himself up in the corner of the couch because Nolan always lays across it. It’s awkward, avoiding him like this, because he never realized so much of their relationship was, well, touching. Nothing really romantic, but like, touching feet at the counter, sharing the couch, fighting over games, casually bumping into each other on a run, standing real close to make room in a grocery store line. More evidence that this is a bad idea, but whatever. It’s for Nolan’s sake, Travis thinks.

Practice beats him so much that he’s really to tired to think a lot, which is kind of nice. So he does a lot of sleeping, not talking as much, and no touching.

Which makes him grumpy, because it’s like he’s trying to un-friend Nolan, which makes him play badly, and makes him feel bad because it’s the playoff push, dammit, and this is the most important part of hockey. And stupid Travis and his stupid Nolan-shaped hole next to him can’t get it together. 

July 16th

Nolan;

Travis is being weird. He’s non-confrontational, doesn’t fight him for the remote, sits way in the corner of the couch, and looks sad all the time. It doesn’t make sense, because he’s back to hockey, so he should be fine, but he’s clearly not. And, because Nolan is a good friend, he asks Travis what’s wrong. 

Travis just shrugs it off and says he’s tired from being on the ice again, no biggie. Nolan doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t push, because he remembers being that tired all the time and knows that sometimes there’s no explanation besides tired. To himself, because he knows Travis, he thinks there’s something else. But maybe Travis will bring it up on his own, even if he hasn’t talked so much for a bit. He’ll just give it time. He does, however, worry himself to sleep.

Nolan wakes up late with sparks behind his eyes and a drilling pain in the back of his head and groans as he gets up to the bathroom to get some Advil. On the grand scheme of things, this headache isn’t so bad, but this is definitely what the doctors mean when they say there might be some days where he can’t make it to practice, still, at this point in time. Travis has already left for practice, which is kind of a bummer, because he wanted to talk to him, so Nolan eats breakfast and passes out on the couch for four hours. At least the migraines aren’t so bad he can’t sleep anymore. 

He wakes up around the time Travis is supposed to get home, so he grabs a pack of frozen peas, puts it on his head (which totally doesn’t help–it’s just so he can focus on his head being cold rather than in pain) and stares at the ceiling. He’d text Travis to ask if he can pick up some comfort food or something for lunch, but the screen’s just going to make it worse. 

Travis busts in the door 15 minutes later, looking pissed off, dropping his bags on the floor. He stamps towards his room, until he sees Nolan on the couch. His face softens a little bit, and he looks like for a minute he’s thinking really hard about something, until he mumbles, “be right back,” and heads to the bathroom.

Nolan hears the shower turn on, then off, and a few minutes later Travis is back in cleaner clothes, standing over him on the couch. Nolan blinks at him. He doesn’t want to, like, ask for Travis to scratch his head but it would be _really_ nice.

Maybe Nolan has telepathy powers because finally Travis sits down on the couch, puts Nolan’s head in his lap, and starts running his hands through Nolan’s hair. Nolan closes his eyes, savors the touch. He’s got to do something about the now very clear feelings he’s got that keep rising to the back of his throat, threatening to leap out at any moment. He should probably text his sisters.

Travis;

That night, Travis considers. Things. He’s broken his streak of no touching, surprise surprise, his big gay crush won’t go away. Who would have thought. His options are a) do something about it or b) suppress it until he leaves for the bubble and actually gets physical distance between the two, enough so he can get over his damned self. He can’t hook up with anyone to distract himself, and even thinking of that is silly, because he knows all too well that he hasn’t done anything since Nolan and Travis’ first roadie together, where he knew it was somehow not worth doing anything except with this stupid blonde (which sounds exceptionally Straight when Travis thinks about it, which makes him laugh a little) despite the fact that he had no idea whether it was worth it to hold out for him. 

And like the masochist that he is, he goes for b), continuing to ignore his feelings which really kind of overwhelm every waking hour. He really is stupid, Travis thinks to himself, before he finally falls asleep.

Nolan;

On the other side of the drywall, Nolan texts his sister “hey think I might be in love with my teammate roommate how do I tell him but still look cool”

Madison responds, finally, after eighteen grueling minutes

**maddie** : congrats on coming out ig

Shit. Nolan forgot about that. Oh well.

just tell him dumbass

its not like he’ll say no

u know he looks at you like you invented the fucking poptart or something

Nolan can’t tell if Madison is being nice to him or actually realistic, but considering Madison is the one with the boyfriend and Nolan isn’t, he’ll take her word for it.

**me** : ok but how do I tell him

like wtf am I supposed to say

hey teeks probably in love with u its no big deal but want to go out with me

on a date to the fucking dining room table????

**maddie** : lmao yeah 

no but just tell him that you think about him and u wanna be more than friends

itll work trust me

**me** : fine

tell mom I said hi

Nolan groans. Vulnerability is really, really not his strong point, but Travis is the only one he’s ever been able to be a little bit open with, so he might as well fucking try. He even writes down bullet points in his notes app, as if that’s going to lower his heart rate, or something. Sets a fucking alarm, too, for dinner. Like he’ll forget about how much he wants it.

* * *

July 17th

Nolan;

Travis is making dinner and Nolan turns off his alarm three minutes before it’s supposed to go off. He’s been counting down the minutes since forever so it seems silly to have an alarm. 

The expression calm before the storm never really made sense to him until now.

Travis has bad music on, humming along, dancing a little, sort of getting in the groove of cooking. Nolan puts his chin in his hands and leans on the countertop and just watches. He wants to savor what could be the last real Travis moment until he potentially really fucks this up and Travis moves out after he gets back from the bubble. 

He likes the way Travis’ hair goes in every direction at once, likes his kind of shitty attempt at a playoff beard, his kind of dog-like personality, the way he hums along to whatever he does. He likes the way Travis is shaped, jacked, but in a hockey way where he looks filled out and strong, but like he’d give good hugs at the same time, which he does. Nolan likes that Travis is shorter than he is, likes the feeling of a head on his chest and likes the idea that frequents his mind of holding Travis down on the couch, underneath him, and, you know. He has a nice ass. 

So that was the calm, and Nolan’s itchy and impatient for the storm. So he tries to talk. 

“Hey Teeks?” Nolan asks, and Travis does a little spin and dances over to him which makes Nolan swoon, practically, except he’s a cool guy so he doesn’t do that. Just saves the memory, for later. “Sup, Patso?” Travis responds with an easy grin

“Travis, I gotta tell you something, I–” Nolan stops to breathe for a second, catching the concerned look in Travis’ eye because Nolan has never once used his real name, pretty much ever.

“I think I–god, I don’t know, think I–you–ah, fuck how do I say this,” Nolan says, and groans and looks up at the ceiling. So much for the cool guy part of this. He looks back down and is staring Travis in the eye, who looks almost like he’s shaking, and Travis says, more serious than he’s ever heard him–“Pat you gotta say no. You have to. I can’t–god,” and Nolan knows what comes next after this, knows what’s going to happen, and he wants to go fucking numb, wants to be asleep forever, puts his head down in his hands and tries not to cry. Stupid Nolan, thinking that any bit of affection towards him is because of some nonsense like love, like it’s not just obligation because of Nolan’s fucked up head. _Failure_.

Travis;

Travis considers himself to be the worst person alive, at this point. Why did he say that? He may be stupid, but he knows what Nolan was about to say. And his dumbass thought it was too good to be true, and he said no. And now Nolan is crying while Travis is pacing the kitchen, swearing to himself. 

But Travis is nothing if not determined, so he stomps back to the stool where Nolan is sitting, turned away from him to face the window now. Glares him down, the top of his head, really, and hugs him as tightly as he can. Doesn’t matter how long the hug lasts now. All in. 

Nolan tries to pull away, like he’s insulted, but Travis stops him, and pulls his face close to his, saying, shaky, “Nolan, bud, if I’m doing something wrong here you gotta tell me–“ and Nolan cuts him off and kisses him and holy shit it’s the end of the world as Travis knows it and he feels fine. More than fine, actually, he feels home. Right here. 

Travis pulls away from the kind of salty kiss and laughs, and Nolan laughs with him, and Travis says “Holy shit Pat I’ve been waiting to do this since basically forever,” and Nolan smiles so wide it hurts, and just responds, “Thought I was never going to recover from my big fat stupid crush on you, Teek,” and because things are ok again, Travis is going to make fun of him for this.

“Oh my god you had a crush on me, you fucking nerd”.

“Are you serious,” Nolan deadpans, and Travis has a hard time believing he’s surprised at their bickering not even a minute after they kiss.

“I can’t believe Nolan Patrick, the cool guy with no emotions, has a crush. Incredible,” Travis pokes, and Nolan rolls his eyes at him but Travis can tell he’s smiling, and then wipes his eyes, saying, “God, I cried so much about this, Trav,” kind of laughing at himself.

“You big fuckin’ baby,” Travis responds, and before Nolan can say anything, he kisses him again. It’s soft, and sweet, and also edging on something more like want, but he knows there will be time for that later. Travis lays his head on Nolan’s chest, and just sits there for a little, gently swaying. This is pretty much exactly where he wants to be. 

“Food’s gonna burn,” Travis mumbles into Nolan’s chest and pulls away to finish their dinner. Sitting on the couch together, letting their elbows touch after a tense week of Not Doing That, eating dinner, is a better fist date than he could ask for. 

Nolan;

Nolan texts Madison a quick “thank you cant talk now hope dad likes trav”. Thank god for sisters who know how to talk to boys. Travis lost rock-paper-scissors to get up and grab the remote a whole three feet away to turn the TV on, to whatever stupid background noise he can find. Travis sits back down, stretches out so his toes are touching Nolan’s knee. 

Nolan considers himself actually a pretty brave person when it comes to action–he hooked up with like six guys during a summer where he “wasn’t gay” and was definitely not the nervous one. So he clambers over the couch to lie on top of Travis’ stomach, looking up at him, just saying “hey,” as Travis giggles. 

“You big fucker,” Travis says with an easy grin and plants a kiss on Nolan’s forhead, placing his head back down to rest on his chest, and carting his hand through Nolan’s hair. 

Nolan makes a mental list of reason why it’s kind of okay to be awake. Several of them have to do with Travis, actually most of them do, but who cares, honestly. There’s a global pandemic and the world is going to shit so any reason to be awake is a good one, Nolan figures.

At some point, Nolan falls asleep, and Travis does too, waking up in the morning glow of Philadlephia, in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> i am on twitter, tragically, at smudgedfreckles


End file.
